


Behind Closed Doors

by orphan_account



Series: Dreaming Wide Awake [5]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Outsider, Then Less Accidental Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 10:09:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19990384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tyson would like to think his sexual preferences don’t run too far outside of the ordinary, so he’s not entirely sure how he ended up creeping on two of his teammates getting busy.He’s going to blame EJ.





	Behind Closed Doors

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction, and I make no profit for it.

A phone pings in the silence, and they both jump.

“Shit,” JT hisses, fishing it out of his pocket as he drops his scissors to the ground.

“Why isn’t that on vibrate?” Tyson whisper-shouts at him. “Why would you leave the volume on?”

JT quickly silences the phone. “I forgot,” he replies, voice hushed. “Oh shit.” He stares at the screen, face going pale.

A cold panic rushes through Tyson. “What? What is it? What?”

Grimacing, JT holds the phone out. “They’re back.”

Tyson’s heart thumps in his chest. “Already?” he exclaims, frantic. “I thought we had another half hour at least!”

“I guess not. Alexander says they’re in the lobby.”

“Fuck,” Tyson cries, looking around them. “Fuck, let’s finish this and go.”

JT stares at him incredulously. “They’re in the lobby, Tys. We need to go now.”

“We need to finish this!”

Shaking his head, JT stoops down to pick up the fallen scissors. “No way, I’m not taking that risk. We need to go.”

Tyson’s halfway done with this pair of shorts. “Give me a minute,” he says.

Someone in the hallway shouts, and JT squeaks, panicked. “That’s them. That’s them. That’s them!”

“No it’s not,” Tyson hisses. “That was definitely Colesy. He’s the only one that loud.”

Lips twisting anxiously, JT tiptoes toward the door. “We should still leave,” he says, already reaching for the handle. “They’re going to be here in a minute or two.”

“I’m almost done. Thirty seconds!”

“I can’t take that risk,” JT says, and he pulls the door open, pokes his head out to look both ways, and dashes down the hallway.

“JT!” Tyson shouts. “You coward, get back here! Jimothy Timothy!”

The door clicks shut, and he can hear the lock slide back into place.

“Fuck.” He looks at the open suitcases and the clothes spilling over the edges, wrinkled and messy where they’d dug through them. “Fuck,” he mutters and quickly throws the shorts back into one of the bags. Hurriedly, he shoves the rest of the clothes in and zips them shut.

Another set of voices sound in the hallway, muffled and indistinct, and Tyson freezes. They get closer and closer, and when they seem to stop outside the door, he tenses, grabs his scissors, hits the lights, and darts toward the half-open door of the closet, heart pounding in his chest.

The harsh slide of plastic on plastic cuts through the tense quiet, followed by the mechanical whir of the lock releasing. With bated breath, Tyson listens as the handle turns and the door slides open.

“Night, Gabe!” Nate calls.

The lights flicker back on, and Tyson presses himself further into the closet, ducking his head when it meets the clothes rod. He should’ve shut the door. Shit, he should’ve taken two seconds to shut the door because they’re going to see him. They’re absolutely going to see him.

“That took forever,” Cale grumbles, sounding unhappy, and if Tyson strains, he can hear the tell-tale slide of shoelaces being undone and the muted thump of their sneakers on the carpeted entry.

“Yeah, I didn’t know Gabe was planning on hitting up multiple places.”

“We should’ve left after the first one.”

A dull thunk echoes through the room followed by silence. Well, near silence, Tyson thinks when he picks up on the wet smack of lips and the rough slide of hands on fabric.

Oh god. Oh no.

“Fuck,” one of them hisses, and a shiver runs down Tyson’s spine.

“The bed. Cale, the bed,” Nate says, voice already rough and needy. “The carpet here is shit; you’ll fuck up your knees.”

Oh my god. Oh my god, why is Cale on his knees? Why are they worrying about the quality of the carpet? Shit.

There’s an annoyed huff and the rustle of fabric as someone moves. Suddenly, they come into view, both shirtless with hands wandering over bare skin, nails raking across backs and through hair.

Tyson’s dick gives an uncomfortable twitch, and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to think of the most unarousing things he can.

A grunt sounds followed by the slight creak of the bed.

He shouldn’t open his eyes. He shouldn’t open his eyes. He shouldn’t open his eyes.

Curiosity wins out, and he cracks his eyes open.

Well, shit.

Nate is flat on his back, and Cale is crawling over him, one hand working at the button and zipper of Nate’s jeans as he presses up to kiss him, tongue sliding out to swipe over Nate’s lower lip. They trade fierce, biting kisses, teeth scraping over fragile skin and leaving trails of red in their wake.

Tyson’s mouth goes dry.

When Cale manages to undo Nate’s jeans, he breaks the kiss and settles back on his heels, fingers hooking in the waistband to drag the material down Nate’s thighs. Once removed, he tosses them behind him and bends to suck kisses into Nate’s neck and chest, tongue flicking over the skin as Nate shivers.

“Shit,” Nate murmurs when Cale bites at the cut of his hips. “Shit, Cale, come on. Stop teasing.”

“I’m not teasing,” Cale mumbles, lips pressed to the trembling muscles of Nate’s stomach. “Just getting you ready.”

Nate huffs out a laugh. “I’ve been ready for the last hour,” he says, punctuating the words with a sinuous roll of his hips. “Let’s do this.”

Cale swats at his side and lays a forearm across Nate’s stomach to hold him down. “You can’t ever be patient, can you?”

Nate props himself up on his elbows and gives Cale a significant look. “Yes, I can,” he murmurs, softer than Tyson expected. “You know I can. I just don’t need to be right now, so I’m not going to be.”

Cale looks up at him for a long moment, and it’s like they’re communicating telepathically, managing an entire conversation without uttering a single word.

After what might have been a few seconds or a few hours, Nate tilts his head down, and Cale rises to meet him, pressing their mouths together in a delicate kiss. It’s a shock after the desperate, almost violent kisses they’d exchanged before.

With a sigh, Cale breaks away and curls his fingers in the fabric of Nate’s briefs, tugging them down until his dick springs free.

Tyson should not look at his teammate’s boner. He should not.

Licking his lips, Cale bends to fit his mouth around the head, but Nate pushes at his shoulders before he can, holding him back.

“What?” Cale asks with mild exasperation, looking between Nate’s face and his hard dick.

Nate pushes at him again. “Take your pants off. I want to look at you.”

Oh dear god.

“You won’t even be able to see anything,” Cale points out. “I’ll be bent over your dick,” but he slides off the bed and shucks his pants anyway, kicking them aside before crawling back on and settling between Nate’s splayed legs.

Tyson has them both naked a hundred times. This shouldn’t be a big deal.

It is.

“Better?” Cale asks, and Nate nods.

“You should lay on your stomach,” he tells him, and Cale complies, wrapping a hand around Nate’s dick and licking a stripe up the flushed skin.

Nate moans loudly and throws a hand over his head, bracing it against the headboard as he rocks into Cale’s touch. Cale takes his time, tongue tracing the veins and leaving trails of spit in his wake. When Nate lays a hand on the back of his head and gently urges him forward, he takes the head into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucks.

“Fuck,” Nate breathes, head falling back against the pillows. “Cale, fuck.”

Cale hums in reply, and Tyson has no idea what is going on inside his mouth, but it must be pretty spectacular because Nate keeps jumping, little shocks running through him and making the muscles of his stomach tense sporadically. He keeps his hand buried in Cale’s hair, tugging lightly at the strands as Cale takes more of his dick in, slowly working down until his mouth meets his fist.

The noises are obscene: Nate’s bitten-off moans, Cale’s soft hums, the wet slurp of a sloppy, good blowjob; and the sight is even worse: Nate practically arching off the bed in pleasure and Cale flat on his stomach, back rippling as he bobs his head up and down.

Fuck EJ for coming up with that dumb prank. Fuck JT for abandoning him before they got the job done. Fuck Alexander for being smart enough to volunteer as lookout. Fuck them all, and fuck Nate and Cale because this shouldn’t be hot at all. It’s two dudes—two of his teammates!—in bed. Tyson should not be reacting the way he is. He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t.

Cale pulls off and tongues at the head, circling slowly before sucking at the foreskin, and Nate shudders.

Tyson shudders too and presses a fist to his dick as hard as he can.

Leisurely, Cale swirls his tongue around the head and laps at the slit before sinking back down, further than before. Nate shouts, and one hand goes tight in Cale’s hair as the other grabs a fistful of sheets.

“Cale, shit,” Nate mutters, eyes fixed on him.

Cale hums and looks up at Nate through his lashes, cheeks red, red, red and lips dark enough to match. Tyson can only see his profile, but that’s already a hell of a sight. He’s not sure how Nate can look at him head on without coming. Repeated exposure probably.

They maintain the eye contact as Cale pulls up and sinks back down, bracing an arm on the bed to get more leverage, and Nate’s mouth moves soundlessly, lips bitten red and slick with spit. He cards his hand through Cale’s hair, musing it thoroughly, and Cale hums contentedly, eyes fluttering shut like he’s the one getting the blowjob.

“Hey,” Nate murmurs, and Tyson does not understand how his voice can be that steady when half his dick is in Cale’s mouth.

Cale opens his eyes and looks up at him.

“We should have sex,” Nate says, and Cale gives him a funny look, hollowing his cheeks further as if to make a point. Nate huffs. “You know what I mean.” He slides a hand under one of the pillows, moving it around until he emerges with a bottle of lube.

Cale pulls off with a wet pop. “Thought you wanted a blowjob,” he says, and his voice is wrecked, husky and rough and far, far too deep. Tyson swallows an involuntary moan.

“I did,” Nate agrees. “I got a blowjob. Now, I want sex.” He holds the lube out to Cale, who takes it gingerly and sits up.

“You want me to do you?”

“Obviously,” Nate drawls, bending his legs up and out.

Tyson’s eyes go wide. Oh god, oh god, oh god. No, no, no. This can’t be happening; this can’t be happening!

The lube snicks open, and Tyson watches Cale squeeze a generous amount onto his hand before shutting it and dropping it back on the bed. Then, he scoots forward, rests his other hand on Nate’s knee, and presses a finger in.

Head dropping once more, Nate groans and rocks his hips minutely. “God, yeah,” he sighs as Cale works his finger in and out. “Add another one.”

Tyson’s ears burn.

Cale readjusts and presses another finger in. Well, Tyson assumes he does. He can’t actually see anything with Nate’s legs in the way, but he can guess from the way Nate hums in contentment and Cale smiles softly at him.

He should not be able to smile like that while fingering Nate. It’s not fair; it’s not right!

“Bend them,” Nate instructs, and he jumps, a low moan spilling from his lips.

“Good?” Cale asks, but the smug smile on his face makes Tyson think he already knows the answer.

“Fucking great,” Nate replies, smiling with too many teeth. “Get another in, and it’ll be even better.”

Huffing, Cale withdraws his fingers before pressing them back in, forearm flexing and turning as he works them into Nate. With a single-minded focus, he watches where his hand disappears into Nate’s body, eyes intense.

After too damn long, Nate’s movements slow. “I think that’s good,” he says breathily and reaches down to push at Cale’s arm, inhaling sharply when his fingers slide out.

Cale nods and climbs off the bed, going to retrieve his pants and rifle through the pockets until he finds his wallet. Opening it, he reaches for a condom and comes up empty-handed. His brow furrows. He opens the wallet wider, pushing aside cash and cards with no success.

“The condom’s gone,” he says, looking up at Nate with a frown.

Nate groans. “Of course it is. We forget to pack some, and the one in your wallet’s gone.”

Cale keeps staring at his wallet like he can will a condom into existence.

“Whatever,” Nate huffs, “it’s fine.”

Glowering, Cale looks from the wallet to Nate and back to the wallet.

“God, babe,” Nate groans, stomach flexing in a sinuous ripple as he rises to prop himself up on his hands, legs extending toward the foot of the bed, “forget the fucking condom. It’s not like we need it.”

Tyson’s eyes go wide in shock, and he presses a fist to his mouth to stop any sound from spilling out.

Ignoring Nate, Cale roots through his wallet a second time, sliding cards in and out like there could actually be a condom hidden behind any of them. “I swear I had one in here.”

“We used it. I remember.”

“I put another one in though,” Cale protests. “When we got back from the west coast, I put another one in.”

Nate huffs impatiently and bends one of his knees, drawing it up until Tyson can no longer see the vicious red-purple of his hard dick. “I know,” he tells Cale. “We used it in Minnesota.”

Cale frowns and tosses his wallet on the desk, walking over to grab Nate’s jeans and rummage through the pockets. “Why did we do that?” he grumbles. “That was dumb. We had a whole box in your suitcase, and we decided to use the one in my wallet instead.”

“I’m pretty sure you were the one who didn’t want to waste time trying to find them in the ‘total chaos’ of my bags.” Tyson can practically hear the quotation marks as Nate grins lasciviously at Cale. “I said it’d take a minute, but no, you weren’t going to let that happen.”

Cale lobs the jeans at Nate with a huff. “You’re the one who made us go out for drinks with the guys when I wanted to come back to the hotel.”

Grinning wider, Nate flings them back. “I like it when you get impatient and pushy,” he says. “Let’s me know you really want it.”

Cale lets the jeans fall back to the floor, and he discards Nate’s wallet beside his own, his search evidently fruitless. Eyebrows arched, he makes his way back to the bed and crawls over Nate. “Is there ever a time you think I don’t want it?” he asks, voice a low purr that makes something in Tyson’s stomach jump.

Leaning back, Nate curls a hand around Cale’s hip and lets his legs fall open. “I don’t know,” he says, faux casual. “I don’t think so, but I can’t be certain.”

“Yes, you can,” Cale retorts fiercely, and he dips down to capture Nate’s lips in a heated kiss, tongue stroking purposefully over the slick skin until Nate opens to him. They kiss for several long minutes, mouths moving in a deliberate, unhurried rhythm as soft moans fill the air. Tyson has to bite down sharply on his lip when Nate wraps a leg around Cale’s waist and rocks into him, drawing low groans from them both.

When they separate, they’re indolent, languid, stealing slow, sipping kisses as they pull apart. Their ragged breaths echo in the ensuing quiet, and Tyson is unduly grateful because his own breath is more unsteady than it should be.

“Seriously,” Cale says, gaze intent and face set, “I don’t think there’s ever a time I don’t want you. Next to me, in me, under me. It doesn’t even matter; I just want you there.”

Beaming, Nate loops an arm around Cale’s neck. “Soft,” he teases, and Cale shrugs carelessly.

“Only for you.”

Nate’s grin widens. “Good,” he says and hitches his hips against Cale’s, “because I was a little bit worried you didn’t want to do this bare because you’ve got someone on the side you’ve been spending time with.”

Cale sputters, and Tyson thinks he might be angry or offended, but when he gets a good look at his face, he just seems incredulous.

“Why the hell would I want to be with anyone else?” he demands, tone making it clear how absurd he finds the mere suggestion.

Biting at his lip, Nate shrugs.

“What the fuck?” Cale mutters, but he doesn’t seem to expect an answer because he sits back, rests one hand on Nate’s hip, wraps the other around his dick, and lines himself up. “I would never want to be with anyone else,” he swears like an oath before pushing into Nate, hips working carefully as he slides in.

“Shit,” Nate hisses through his teeth, and he curls his fingers around Cale’s wrist, grip tight like he wants to keep him there. “Cale. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Cale presses in slowly, eyes flitting between Nate’s face and the place they’re connected until he’s fully seated in him, hips flush with the back of Nate’s thighs.

“Fuck,” Nate murmurs, voice thin and reedy. “Fuck, I swear this gets better every goddamn time. How is that even possible?”

Grinning, Cale adjusts his position and tilts Nate’s hips slightly. Then, he pulls out and presses back in slowly, eyes focused on Nate’s flushed cheeks and gaping mouth. “They say practice makes perfect,” he quips, and Nate groans.

“No. Don’t ever quote inspirational shit when your ball’s deep in me.”

Cale circles his hips expertly, and Nate moans, wanton.

“Is there something else I should be quoting to you when we’re doing this then?” Cale asks, grinding into Nate. “Some old school poetry? Maybe some Shakespeare or Lord Byron?”

Nate kicks at his side, barely getting any leverage from his position. “Hell no. I’d kick you out of bed if you started reciting poetry.”

Scoffing, Cale pulls out and thrusts in a little harder. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Yes, I would.”

Cale’s movements slow and then stop. “No,” he repeats, “you wouldn’t.” He shifts on his knees, pulling back, and Nate whimpers.

He honest to god whimpers, and Tyson gapes. Holy fucking shit, he wouldn’t have thought Nate could even make a sound like that, but dear god, he just did, and Tyson is painfully, shamefully turned on.

Smirking, Cale lays a hand flat on Nate’s stomach, holding him in place when he tries to scoot closer. “You wouldn’t kick me out of bed,” he drawls, and the brash, vocal arrogance takes Tyson by surprise, such a stark contrast to the quiet confidence he displays on the ice or in the locker room.

Nate scowls, lips twisting in a frown. “I would.”

Cale raises a single, disbelieving brow.

“I could.”

“But you wouldn’t,” Cale grins, and he drags his hand down Nate’s stomach, skirting his leaking dick to press a couple fingers into him. Nate rocks into the intrusion, eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a soft moan. “You won’t. Will you?” Cale asks. It’s phrased like a question, but it sounds like an order, like a demand he’s making. He twists his fingers, forearm flexing, and Nate shudders.

He shakes his head.

Cale tuts. “You have to use your words, Nate. You have to say it.”

This is…a lot, Tyson thinks dazedly, more than he ever wanted to know about any of his teammates’ sex lives and especially more than he wanted to know about the two that have sex with each other.

Nate shakes his head again.

“Nate,” Cale chides, and Tyson doesn’t understand how he’s so calm and cocky, staring Nate down as he works his fingers deeper. “You know that doesn’t count.”

They look at each other for several endless moments, the only sound the slick, wet press of Cale’s fingers, and Tyson curses EJ, Alexander, and JT once more, sending more and more violent thoughts their way the longer he has to watch whatever weird standoff Nate and Cale are having.

Finally, Nate huffs. “I’d only kick you out if you cheated on me,” he says, and Cale’s expression sours immediately.

“Why the fucking hell would I cheat on you?” he asks, hand freezing as he stares at Nate in disbelief.

A mischievous grin breaks over Nate’s face, and he lunges forward, barreling into Cale and laying him out flat. Triumphant, he climbs over him and settles on his thighs, pinning his arms to the bed. “You wouldn’t,” he says confidently. “Unless it was with another me, but we already agreed that’s fine, so it’s whatever.”

What the fuck? What does that even mean, another Nate? Why the hell is that something they’ve even thought about?

“Pretty sure I wouldn’t know if it was another you,” Cale replies. “I don’t think it works that way.”

What works what way? What the fuck are they talking about?

Nate shrugs. “True, which is why it doesn’t count as cheating.” He shimmies in Cale’s lap, inching forward until he’s almost on top of his dick. “So I guess the moral of the story is that I would never kick you out of bed because you’d only cheat on me with me and that’s allowed, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Tyson’s brain hurts.

“That was some pretty convoluted logic there,” Cale comments, wrestling one arm free and laying a hand on Nate’s knee.

“God,” Nate groans, “don’t get all college-educated on me now.”

Cale pinches at the meat of his thigh. “You love it when I get all college-educated. You always talk about how we’re going to have sex in the cap and gown when I finally finish.”

That is a weirdly specific, shockingly long-term fantasy in Tyson’s opinion. Not that he doesn’t think they’ll stay together; he just hasn’t put much thought into them being a them well into the future. They apparently have.

“Don’t play like that doesn’t do it for you,” Nate retorts, and Cale concedes the point with a shrug.

“So now that we’ve established that I’m never going to cheat on you—because that’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard—and that you’re not going to kick me out of bed, can we get back to it? Because this is supposed to be a reward for that sick pass in the third, but you seem like you’d rather talk than ride me.”

Glowering, Nate raises himself onto his knees, gets one hand around Cale’s dick, and sits down like a goddamn porn star, dragging a punched-out moan from Cale when he takes him to the hilt in one fell swoop. Cale’s hands fumble over Nate’s thighs and curl around his hips, fingers biting into flesh tight enough to leave bruises. Nate grins smugly and lifts himself almost completely off before dropping back down. Cale groans.

Gaping, Tyson watches Nate’s thighs flex and relax rhythmically as Cale holds on for dear life, scrabbling to plant his feet so he can meet Nate halfway. They’re making low, desperate sounds that are almost drowned out by the obscene slap of skin-on-skin, and Tyson feels hot and cold, aroused by the sight and sounds but horrified because these are his teammates. He’s going to see them in the locker room tomorrow; he’s going to have to look Cale in the eye without thinking of the face he makes when Nate swivels his hips just right.

Oh, fuck.

Nate suddenly pulls Cale’s hands away and presses them into the sheets, slotting their fingers together as he leans forward. “Fuck,” he gasps when Cale thrusts into him. “Fuck, Cale, right there.”

“Yeah?”

Nate nods emphatically, and Cale drives up into him, glutes straining as he works to maintain the angle that has Nate making an objectively ugly face, eyes screwed shut and features scrunched in concentration, but Tyson also recognizes that it probably means he’s close to orgasm, and that somehow makes it better.

“Hey,” Cale says, fingers squeezing around Nate’s. “Nate.”

Nate hums in response.

“Come on,” Cale urges. “I’m so close. Fuck,” he hisses, “we’re so close.”

Nate shakes his head. “Not yet. Not yet. Just a little longer.”

“I can’t,” Cale pants. “Nate, babe, I can’t. Come on.”

Huffing petulantly, Nate lifts himself up enough to look Cale in the eye. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Cale responds, and it shouldn’t be possible for them to look and sound so soppy and fond when they’re moving at breakneck speed toward orgasm, but they somehow manage it. Tyson is almost envious.

“I love you,” Cale says fiercely, and Nate whines. “God, I love you so much.”

“Love you, too,” Nate replies, clutching at Cale’s hands.

They keep repeating the words over and over, broken only by moans or the other’s name, and Tyson is frozen, feet glued to the ground as the words ring in his ears.

Holy shit.

Holy motherfucking shit.

That’s heavy.

Saying I love you is one thing. Saying I love you during sex is another. Repeatedly saying I love you during sex while looking each other in the eye isn’t even in the same ballpark as the first two.

Good god.

“Nate, Nate, Nate,” Cale cries, hips stuttering in their rhythm as he comes.

Nate rides him through it, grinding his hips down and wrapping a fist around his own dick to stroke gracelessly over the painfully red flesh. Cale whimpers beneath him and lifts a clumsy hand to push Nate’s away.

“Let me,” he mumbles, and Nate gives in easily, planting his hands on Cale’s chest as he thrusts into his hand once, twice, three times before spilling over the sweat-slick skin.

Tyson can feel his dick twitch in envy, and he presses a fist to the hard length, biting his bottom lip when a moan tries to escape.

On the bed, Cale manages through some absurd display of strength, flexibility, and sheer, bloody-minded determination to roll them over, carefully arranging Nate’s limp body before pulling out. Tyson does not understand how he stayed in him through that tuck and roll. What the fuck?

Nate grimaces, and Cale pats his thigh sympathetically. “You wanted to do this bare,” he reminds him.

Nate raises a single finger in reply.

Laughing gently, Cale stands on wobbly legs. “How about we go take a shower? Clean up so you don’t have to sleep like that.”

Nate’s head lolls to the side, and he gives him an unimpressed look that just makes Cale laugh harder.

“You should really be nicer to the person who just let you raw them,” Nate grumbles, and Cale shakes with it, almost doubling over with mirth.

“I don’t think anyone says raw,” he gets out between breaths, and Nate scoffs.

“Someone had to have said it, otherwise it wouldn’t be a word.”

“I guess,” Cale shrugs, “but I don’t think people actually use it.”

“I just did. I’m going to make it a thing.”

Cale goes quiet, and his eyebrows shoot up. “Oh yeah? You going to run around telling everyone you just got rawed, so it’ll become a thing?”

“No,” Nate huffs. “I’m going to run around telling everyone that I rawed you.”

“But you didn’t,” Cale points out, waving between his limp dick and the mess Nate probably has between his thighs.

“But I have, and I definitely will again.”

Holy shit. They’ve done this before. They’ve done the whole no condom thing before. Holy shit, that’s serious. That’s really serious.

Smiling fondly, Cale shrugs his agreement. “I’m fine with that.” He pauses. “Fine with the rawing part,” he amends, “not the part about telling other people. They don’t need to know that.”

Nate laughs softly and sits up, tossing his legs over the side of the bed. “You better catch me if I fall,” he says like a threat, fixing his eyes on Cale.

“That wasn’t even that crazy,” Cale objects, but he still shuffles closer and holds a hand out in case Nate needs it.

“I was bottoming from the top,” Nate says, gingerly rising to his feet. “That’s always the hardest.”

Tyson swears he can see a line of come dripping down his leg, but he looks away before he can inspect it too closely. He’s already seen enough; that would be too much.

“It’s not like I wasn’t doing anything,” Cale grumbles, looping an arm around Nate’s waist and guiding him through the open bathroom door.

“You were definitely doing something,” Nate tells him, and Tyson is stupidly grateful to not see the expression that accompanies the highly suggestive words and tone.

The water turns on, and the door swings shut, muffling Cale’s response and the spray of the shower.

Oh shit, this is his chance. This is his moment!

Steeling himself for a quick getaway, Tyson counts to sixty, each second dragging by like an eternity. When he’s done, he pushes the closet door open, carefully closes it about the same amount as before, and strides toward the door, eyes fixed on its smooth surface to avoid looking at the bed or the scattered clothes. Ears pricked for any sound from the bathroom, he pulls the door open and slips into the hallway before quietly shutting it behind him.

Outside, he takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, shaking with nerves.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters. “Holy fuck.”

Shaking himself, he marches down the hallway and pounds on JT’s door. “You better open up, you fucking asshole, or I’m going to kill you. I swear, JT, I’ll do it. I don’t care if I have to find a new roommate. I’m not going to—”

The door swings open, and Tyson nearly hits JT in the face by accident. He kind of regrets not doing it.

“You fucking ditcher,” he hisses. “I can’t believe you left me there. I can’t believe you’d let me—”

“Mini me,” Big Tyson interrupts, peeking around the corner and hurrying over. He wraps a hand around Tyson’s wrist and tugs him inside. “You survived!”

“What? Of course, I fucking survived!” Tyson cries, feeling a bit more hysterical with every minute that passes. “No thanks to you guys!”

“Hey,” EJ chides, sitting up to stare at him, “it’s not our fault you didn’t listen when we said it was time to go. If there’s anyone to blame here, it’s definitely you.”

Tyson scoffs. “No way. No way! I’ve suffered enough. I don’t deserve any of the blame.”

“Suffered?” JT asks, concern marring his features. “What do you mean?”

“What do I—?” Tyson laughs incredulously. “I mean Nate and Cale! I mean the fact that I was stuck in the closet while they had sex for the last—” he glances at the clock “—hour and a half!”

EJ whistles lowly, and Big Tyson’s eyebrows go up. They both look impressed.

“You stayed in there while they had sex?” Alexander asks, disbelieving, and Tyson eyes him like the crazy person he apparently is.

“Of course I fucking stayed in there! The only thing worse than listening to them have sex would be interrupting them while they’re having sex.”

“Yeah, they don’t really like that,” Big Tyson says sympathetically, and Tyson glares at him.

“I fucking know that, so I was stuck in there until they got in the shower.”

“Together?” JT asks.

“What the fuck? Yes, together! They just had sex, JT! They just had super long, intense, serious sex. Of course, they fucking took a shower together!”

“Was it hot?” EJ asks.

Tyson’s brow furrows. “I don’t know. I didn’t stick around long enough to see if any steam came out of the bathroom.”

EJ scoffs. “Not the shower. The sex.”

“What?” Tyson asks, frowning. “Sex doesn’t make steam, EJ. Unless it’s in some cheesy romance book.”

EJ blinks at him. “Okay,” he says slowly, “I’m definitely going to chirp you for that later, but no. I’m talking about the sex. Was it hot? Was the sex hot?”

“No!” Tyson squeaks. “Yes,” he amends. “No—I don’t know! Why would you ask that? What am I supposed to say? Those are our teammates! We play hockey with them; that’s our job. We have to see them in the locker room every day, and now I’m going to have to spend the rest of my career pretending like I don’t know what their o-faces look like! How am I supposed to do that? I can’t do that!”

“You saw their o-faces?” Big Tyson asks, confused. “I thought you said—” He breaks off suddenly. “Oh my god,” he breathes, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, you watched! You totally watched! It _was_ hot; it was so hot. It was so hot you watched them. Oh my god, Josty. You totally watched them fuck, didn’t you?”

“Shut up!” Tyson shouts, cheeks flaming red. “I was stuck in there. I didn’t have a choice!”

“You could have chosen to not watch,” Alexander points out.

Fuck him and his Harvard education.

“I was going to hear them anyways! It’s not like watching is that big of deal after that.”

“Oh my god,” JT murmurs, staring at Tyson in shock. “You watched Nate and Cale have sex. Holy shit, I can’t believe you.” He doesn’t seem angry or upset, just worried. Really worried. “Dude, you can never let anyone else know. Ever. Nate already gets pissy when anyone jokes about getting to see Cale naked in the locker room; he’d kill you if he knew you’d seen him naked in bed. Oh my god. Oh my god. Why would you stay? You should’ve left. You should’ve left!”

“And let Nate catch me?” Tyson shouts in response. “No way! Staying gave me the chance to leave when neither of them would see me.”

“Oh my god,” JT repeats, looking faint. “You watched them have sex. You’ve seen Cale naked. Like _naked_ naked. Oh my god.” He looks around the loose circle they’ve formed. “This information can never leave this room,” he says frantically. “We need to swear on it. No one else can ever know.”

“Hey now,” Big Tyson says, holding up a hand, “Josty’s the only one who’d be on the receiving end of Nate’s temper if he found out. We shouldn’t all be pulled into this because he wasn’t smart enough to leave when you told him to.”

Tyson gasps in outrage. “It wasn’t my fault though! I wouldn’t have even been there if EJ hadn’t decided it was a good idea to try and prank them.”

EJ scowls.

“He’s right,” JT says, before an argument can break out. “If Nate ever did find out, he would never believe that Tys had been there alone. He’d find out that we were all in on the prank and would therefore hold all of us responsible for Tys watching them have sex. We’d all be dead.”

Big Tyson’s mouth twists in a frown. “Damn it,” he mutters. “Damn it. You’re right. Nate would figure us all out, and I’m pretty sure he still hasn’t forgiven me for the last time I interrupted them, so I can’t afford to get on his bad side again. My house key is already on probation; I’ll lose it if something else happens.”

Shoulders slumping, EJ nods unhappily. “You’re right,” he sighs.

“So we all swear that this information will never leave this room,” Alexander says, “for fear of Nate’s wrath.”

They each extend a hand into the center of their circle and nod.

“Good,” JT says. “We’re just going to pretend this never happened. We’re going to move on and continue to live our lives like nothing has changed.”

“Yeah,” EJ agrees, “but not until Josty here tells us all about what our resident power couple is like in bed.” He claps a hand to Tyson’s shoulder and pushes him towards the desk.

Dropping into one of the open chairs, Tyson turns to see them all watching him expectantly.

Big Tyson nods in encouragement.

“Uh,” he begins, not really sure where to start. “Really intense, I guess.” They all make noises of agreement, and Tyson slowly lets himself relax, the first tendrils of anxiety slipping away.

\----

“They look so normal,” Tyson moans over breakfast the next morning, staring at his cold eggs and toast. “How do they look so normal?”

Without glancing up from his oatmeal, JT shrugs. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “I don’t know. How does Nate not have a limp? How do neither of them ever have limps? Isn’t that normal after taking it up the ass? Are they just used to it?”

Alexander shushes them loudly. “Shut up,” he hisses. “They could hear you.”

“They’re on the other side of the room,” JT says, waving to where Nate and Cale sit with Big Tyson and EJ, calmly eating their breakfast like they didn’t have stupidly hot, surprisingly romantic sex last night.

“Don’t point at them!” Alexander cries, slapping at JT’s hand. “That just makes it even more obvious.”

Rubbing at the sore spot, JT lets his gaze flit over just as Cale says something that has Nate almost snorting coffee out of his nose. “Not like they’re even paying attention,” he grumbles. “They’ve only got eyes for each other.”

Pale-faced, Tyson nods. “Yeah, yeah.” He stares at a drop of condensation rolling down his glass. “Even during sex,” he mutters incredulously. “They watch each other during sex.”

“What’s going on here?” Gabe asks, popping up on Alexander’s left, and they all jump in shock, letting out undignified squeals and clutching at their hearts like old-timey maidens. “Why do you all look scared and tired?”

“Stayed up too late watching _The Exorcist_ ,” Alexander quickly fibs, and Tyson nods in frantic agreement.

“Tyson watched Nate and Cale have sex last night, and he told us all about it, and now I can’t forget,” JT confesses in a panicked rush, and Gabe’s eyes widen minutely.

“Oh my god!” Tyson shouts. “What is wrong with you?”

“The pact!” Alexander cries. “What happened to the pact? It was your idea, man.”

JT shrugs helplessly, and Tyson punches him in the shoulder.

“Tyson,” Gabe chides, and he begrudgingly mutters a half-hearted apology that JT returns, shame-faced. Gabe gives them a onceover, concern writ across his features. “You watched Nate and Cale have sex?” he asks cautiously.

Flushing, Tyson pushes his rubbery eggs around his plate with the side of his fork. “I didn’t mean to,” he whispers.

Gabe sighs, sounding far older than he is. “Look, Tyson, if you’re feeling a bit…curious, there are far better ways to explore that than watching two of your friends have sex, especially when it’s those two.”

What does that even mean? What does Gabe know about it?

Tyson sputters. “I’m not—no! This isn’t that. I wasn’t curious. I, I don’t want to explore.” The words spill out of him in a jumble, tumbling from his lips messily. “I didn’t watch them because I wanted to. It just—it just happened.”

Gabe looks unconvinced. “Okay,” he says slowly. “If you’re sure.”

Tyson bobs his head quickly. “Totally sure. Absolutely sure. One hundred percent sure.”

That was probably the opposite of convincing, but Tyson can’t deal with this right now. He can’t. He barely slept last night, kept up by the images that would play across his eyelids each time he tried to shut them. He can’t deal with Gabe trying to talk him down from a sexuality crisis that hasn’t happened…yet.

“Okay.” Gabe hesitates, looking conflicted. “Either way,” he goes on carefully, eyes darting over to where Nate and Cale are leaning close, talking lowly, “don’t focus too much on anything you saw, and don’t think it’s like that for everyone. Nate and Cale are…they’re…different. They’re a lot. Don’t feel like it needs to be like that for you.”

What does that even mean?

“Yeah,” Tyson says faintly. “Of course.”

Gabe nods. “Good, good. Because that’s—that’s just them. That’s just how they are. It’s different for everyone though, and that’s okay.”

“Right.”

Alexander and JT nod mutely, and Gabe does an awkward shuffle, shifting from foot to foot before stepping away.

“Gabe,” Tyson calls after him, and he turns to look at them expectantly. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? You can’t tell anyone, especially not them.”

Gabe’s brow furrows, and his nose scrunches up. “Obviously,” he scoffs. “I’m not looking to be the victim of Nate’s wrath if he finds out you watched them and then told other people about it.”

Reassured, Tyson nods and offers Gabe a quiet thank you and a wave. They all watch him walk away.

“So,” JT says, dragging the word out, “do you think Gabe has also seen them going at it?”

“He’s definitely seen something,” Alexander mutters, and he stabs at a grape, skewering it on his fork before sticking it in his mouth. “What do you think he means when he says they’re different? That they’re a lot?”

JT shrugs and scoops another spoonful of oatmeal. “I don’t know. But I also didn’t see them in bed together.” He turns to Tyson and lifts a single, ginger brow. “What does that mean they’re a lot?”

Tyson thinks of the extended eye contact, the murmured ‘I love you’s, and the condom they didn’t need. He glances over to their table and watches Nate steal a sip of Cale’s orange juice before pressing it back into his hand, Cale not even stumbling in his conversation with EJ.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I can’t really explain it. They’re just…they’re them. It’s a lot. They’re a lot.”

JT’s brow furrows, and Alexander frowns. Apparently unsatisfied with that answer, they turn and watch Nate and Cale wrap up their meal, stacking their plates and rising almost simultaneously. When Big Tyson says something to them, they both laugh and shrug, each saying something in return that has Tyson rolling his eyes. They drop their plates off near the kitchen and walk toward the elevators, swaying in and out of each other’s space with each step.

“Hmmm,” JT hums. “They are a lot.”

Alexander nods in agreement.

**Author's Note:**

> I wasted so much time trying to figure out what the set-up of this hotel room was, until I just thought, "Fuck it. This is fiction. I do what I want." Hopefully, the scenario doesn't seem too implausible.


End file.
